


Personal Matress

by linascribbles



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Drunk Peggy Is A Grabby Peggy, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk!Peggy, F/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linascribbles/pseuds/linascribbles
Summary: Steve and Peggy have recently started dating, they're still finding out what each likes from the other. After they finally wrap up the project at work that had been getting in their way and go out to celebrate, Peggy drinks a bit more than is advisable and makes her preferences clear.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52
Collections: Steggy Week





	Personal Matress

**Author's Note:**

> This is just, a very very silly thing that I wrote in like, two hours inspired by a riddiculous photo (it's at the end) (and That Scene), hope you enjoy!  
> Written for the 2020 Steggy Week, make sure to check out all the other works from some other amazing creators! Find them at @steggyfanevents on tumblr and me at @quiquimora
> 
> Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.

Steve isn’t sure whose idea it was to go out for a celebratory drink after the end of the project, but they have been working themselves raw at it for so long that an after-office cocktail is far from unwarranted. He’d rather celebrate the day by going home and drawing while curled up on the couch and listening to music, it’s true, but he’s not gonna be that kind of buzzkill tonight.

He quickly volunteers to be the designated driver. He’s on the last week of some antibiotics so it’s not like he can drink anyways, and after watching Bucky down a shot of vodka while staring down Natasha, he’s not sure he’ll be able to vouch for his friend's composure by the end of the night. There’s no way people aren’t going to get shitfaced, and he’d rather get them home safely than get shitfaced himself.

The other person who seems to be unusually eager to down drink after drink is Peggy. As the project manager, she has been the one to deal with their superiors’ bullshit, to have to listen to their critics and manage all the little and big ways they hadwhad to change things half-way through.

She’d been under a lot of stress and little sleep for the last couple months. Every time Steve tried to get her to relax she’d get a new call, email or message about a new shift in the timeline and all his work would be thrown out the window.

Their first date had been the only time they had managed to keep work out of their minds for some hours, but after that, all their meet-ups had been quick or interrupted by work as the deadline loomed closer and closer. Now, finally free of the threatening shadow of work, Steve is looking forward to inviting Peggy out on a proper date and hopefully go forward with their relationship.

The alcohol paints Peggy’s cheeks pink. Her eyes are shining and he can practically see the tension start to slide off her shoulders as her jokes get louder and her movements less coordinated.

“Hey,” he whispers to her when she ambles to where he is and nestles under his shoulder with a happy sound.

“Mhm,” she hums and looks up to him with a big grin. “I didn’t have lunch so I’m sloshed,” her accent has thickened substantially as the hours have gone by and Steve feels his lips pull upwards. He finds it very cute.

“You should have told me,” he _tsks_ with his tongue. “I could have brought you something to the office.”

“But then I wouldn’t have been able to focus,” she slides to his front and props her chin on his chest. “You’re very distracting,” she can’t quite work out the last word so it comes out mangled.

“I think you’ve maybe had enough, huh?” he looks down at her and tries to sweep her comment away even as he feels the back of his neck prickle.

“Probably,” she slurs again and brings her arms around his waist to steady herself. “But it’s fine, you’re taking me home.”

“I am,” he confirms just to say something and lets his hands rest on her hips, appreciating the heat and softness of her body against his.

A hiccup startles Peggy and she burrows against his chest even further.

“So comfy,” she mutters against his t-shirt, so muffled he can barely understand her.

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice cuts through the general chatter, loud enough to startle him out of his quiet contemplation. His hand drops out of Peggy’s hair where it had somehow migrated to and she protests lightly.

“Yeah?” he calls out to his best friend, who is standing by one of the boots.

“Bruce is about to fall asleep,” he answers, voice surprisingly level for the way he had been going head to head against Natasha since they arrived.

“Alright,” he nods at them and gently squeezes Peggy’s arm, “how about we get everyone home, huh?”

She looks up to him between the silky curtains of her hair, already looking sleepy and calmer than he has seen her in weeks. A sharp twinge makes itself known inside his ribcage, confirming what he has suspected for a while now: when it comes to Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers is pretty much done for.

Rounding up the drunk crowd, shuttling those deemed level enough to get home by themselves into cabs and piling those past the limit into Steve's car takes a while. Bruce, Clint, Peggy and Bucky end up in Steve's car and he sets off, battling Clint’s hands away from the stereo when he tries to put Katy Perry at max volume and tuning out Bucky’s running commentary on the street views.

Bruce’s apartment is the closest one and he gets in easily enough. Looking more rumpled and sleepy than normal, he waves at them all with a distracted smile from the entryway and closes the door behind himself. Clint is next, dropped at his complex in Bed-Stuy, where his neighbor Kate receives him with Lucky in town, who is more than thrilled to see his owner.

Bucky’s new place is close enough and he gets off with a looping stride and a comment to Steve to not do anything stupid and a wink at Peggy along with a reminder to not eat him alive. Steve’s blushes furiously at that but Peggy only gives his best friend a complicit wink and a wolfish smile that does nothing to quell the heat in Steve’s cheeks.

When they get to her place, a nice duplex without an elevator that Peggy likes to complain about but Steve knows she secretly loves for its antique charm, Peggy has been leaning back on her seat with one hand resting on Steve’s tight for a while.

He parks the car and gets out to open the door for her. As he helps her out Peggy sways in place, clearly not stable on top of her heels and still quite wasted. Her hand clamps over his forearm as she regains her balance and she looks up to him.

“Walk me home?” She says with a giggle and a raised eyebrow, clearly considering herself the height of hilarity in that moment.

“Sure,” he says with a chuckle, never one to turn down her company.

She doesn’t let go of his arm, instead leans heavily into him to the point where he has to curl it around her waist to be able to walk comfortably. He’s starting to realize that Peggy gets grabby when drunk.

It takes a minute of her rummaging through her purse one-handed looking for her keys, given she seems set in not letting go of him, before Steve volunteers to search for them.

“I can’t find my keys, Steve,” she whines with a frankly adorable pout.

“I noticed,” he teases her and draws them out in two seconds, to receive another whine as an answer.

She sways in place as he opens the door, humming one of the songs from the radio quietly to herself. The door swings open and Steve contemplates the wind of stairs, Peggy’s heels and pencil skirt before concluding it’s best to play it safe.

“I’ll walk you up,” he offers her his arm and she takes it readily, letting him take some of her weight as they start climbing up.

When they get to the top, in the time it takes him to open her door she has already winded her arms around his chest from the back and is clinging to him.

“Peg,” he tries to get her attention but she’s too enthralled nuzzing her face against his back and roaming her hands over his chest. “C’mon, inside,” he encourages her and tries to fight the heat crawling up his neck.

He takes her right arm and she seems to snap out of it.

“Yes,” she says, taking a step back and going around him. “Inside,” she repeats and with a surprisingly strong tug, brings him into her apartment.

“I should-” he starts, intending to make his exit but she speaks over him like he hasn’t said anything.

“Shoes,” she instructs him with a firm tone that even with the slurred _sh_ and the shine on her eyes makes him snap to attention.

 _Might as well make sure she gets to sleep alright_ , he reasons and gives up trying to get out of the apartment for the moment.

He toes off his shoes and leaves them by the door, Peggy has already kicked off her heels and is shifting her weight in place and wriggling her toes with an unabashedly pleased smile, eyes closed in clear pleasure. 

“How about I get you a glass of water so you don't feel like murdering someone tomorrow when the hungover hits, huh?” She cracks an eye open to look at him for a second before walking forward and bringing her arms around him again. “Peg,” he admonishes her even as he pets her hair, but her only reply is a huff from where her face is nuzzled against his pectorals. “C’mon, you’ll thank me for it, babe.”

Her reply is too muffled for him to make out.

“What was that? Can’t hear you when you’re talking to my shirt.”

“Only if you drink it with me,” she repeats, shifting her face only enough to repeat herself before going back to using him as a cushion.

“Alright,” he concedes. “Go sit on the couch and I’ll drink a glass of water with you,” he looks up at the sky fighting off a smile. He’s too endeared to be really annoyed.

“Alright,” she finally gives in and disentagles herself from him.

He watches her amble to the couch for a second before going to the kitchen. When he comes back, two glasses in hand, Peggy is sprawled on the couch, looking both pleased with herself and sleepy. Her eyes follow him hungrily on his way and she does nothing to hide the desire pooling on them. That alone makes it clear that she’s way too drunk. In Steve’s experience, Peggy’s desire simmers, hides behind a small smile and in small touches that make them all the more maddening for their scarcity.

He wonders if this is how Peggy will be like with time, when they get more comfortable with each other and find their own language to express their feelings. The prospect ignites a fire in his belly.

He sets the glasses on the coffee table and looks down at her where she refuses to move on the couch. He raises an eyebrow at her and says nothing. With a huff and a roll of her eyes she pushes herself to a sitting position and makes a big show of grabbing her glass.

“You’re hot when you’re annoyed,” she grins into the glass, eyes dancing as she stares at him.

He looks up at the ceiling. He knows he’s blushing and that only seems to spur her on. A hand takes hold of his and she tugs him to the couch next to her. He takes a seat and she immediately cuddles up to him, pushing him back against the back of the couch so she’s practically in his lap.

“Peggy-” he starts, but she pays him no mind

She drowns the glass looking at him straight in the eye and puts it down on the table. He tries to stand up so he can help her to bed but she stops him with a hand on the shoulder.

“You should go to sleep.”

“And I’m going to,” she informs him, with a level of resolution that Steve knows to dread.

She surveills him again, eyes hungry and bites into her red lips. Her eyes catch on his chest and he can see the light of an idea turn on in them. She grabs him by the shoulders and keeps pushing him around, giving up on trying to stop her (he’s seen what comes of men who get between Peggy and her goals, it’s not pretty), he goes easily.

It’s only when she has him laid out on the couch and crawls over him that he realizes that this might have not been a great idea.

“Peggy, you-” he stutters as she starts nosing at the juncture of his neck, setting off goosebumps all over his skin.

“Oh shush, you can do mine next time,” her accent is still thick with the drink but there’s a sleepy edge to it now.

“Next time?” he asks, not understanding before one of her hands finds one of his pectorals and gives it an exploratory squeeze.

“Mmm,” she hums, pleased at the soft give in it and tries to clumsily encompass it all with her hand. When she finds she can’t she makes another pleased sound.

Steve looks up as his face burns, pleased embarrassment and Peggy chuckles against him, giving his pec a more playful squeeze. He’s not sure whether he’s glad he’s shirt is so thin or if he’d should have worn something thicker. Her nails graze the skin sensitive skin of his side and he inhales sharply. He snaps his gaze down at her, startled at his own reaction and finds her looking at him with interested narrow eyes. He gets the distinct feeling she has filled down that moment for future inspection.

He’s amused even as his face burns, so he doesn’t try to truly stop her. Peggy seems to realize that and looking up at him and her hair falls in two messy curtains, covering half her heavy lidded eyes, she gives him a slow, languid smile. Steve is pretty sure she can’t even see properly, so he brings a hand around and tucks one side behind her ear. His thumb lingers on her skin, almost of its own volition and caresses her cheekbone.

That twinge is back in his chest, he’s probably smiling like a dumbass, lovestruck at the woman sprawled on top of him who has developed a drunken fixation on his pectorals.

Her face stiffens for a second and then a broad, jaw-unhinging yawn takes over her. Peggy pushes herself a bit higher for a second and his hand falls from her cheek. 

She wriggles on top of him, not giving the slightest indication of moving. Steve is starting to accept his role in life as Peggy Carter’s personal mattress when a knee jabs way too close to his sensitive parts and he inhales sharply.

Peggy doesn't seem to notice, instead shuffles a bit more in place and lowers herself. Gingerly, she rests her head on his chest, using his pecs like a pillow.

“Hm,” she musses in a sleepy voice. “Less plushy than I expected, but still good,” she reviews in a serious tone severely undercut by the way she’s still smashing words together with her slurring.

Steve lets out an incredulous chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, my tits are more squishy, you’ll see,” she waves her hand in a vague motion and then lets it flop down over the couch, Steve presses his lips against the snort that threatens to scape them.

It takes him thirty seconds to notice she’s fast asleep.

**The End.**

The photo that inspired this silliness:

And you know which scene I'm talking about, I don't need to link it

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcomed 😊


End file.
